Later that morning, Briar calls.
We gather in the living room—me, Elliot, and the laptop screen showing Briar and Landon in their new cabin. The connection is secure, the encryption military-grade.
"You heard about the tribunal?" Briar asks.
"Jagger called this morning."
"Good. Then you know we're entering a new phase." Briar leans back in his chair, Landon visible just behind his shoulder. "The immediate threat is contained. Webb's not going anywhere. But the larger investigation is going to take time."
"Jagger said months."
"At minimum. Protocol Omega has roots that go back decades. Untangling it means going through thousands of documents, following financial trails, interviewing people who've kept secrets their whole lives." Briar's expression is grim. "It's not a sprint. It's a marathon."
"And you think I should sit it out."
"I think you should take the win." Briar's voice softens. "You did something impossible, Jace. You went against everything you were trained to be, saved someone the system wanted to destroy, and exposed one of the most powerful men in The Silent. That matters. But it also took a toll."
I glance at Elliot. He's watching me with quiet attention, waiting to follow my lead.
"What are you suggesting?"
"Stay at the cottage as long as you need. They won’t come for you, not yet anyway, with this shit show. Rest. Heal. Let Elliot recover properly instead of dragging him back into danger." Briar pauses. "Landon and I are relocating to a new safehouse next week. We'll be running support for Jagger's investigation, but from a distance. You don't need to be involved in the day-to-day."
"And if something happens? If Webb finds a way to retaliate?"
"Then we'll deal with it. But right now, the best thing you can do is stay off the radar and let the heat die down." Briar's mouth quirks. "Consider it a tactical retreat. You're not abandoning the fight. You're conserving resources for the next battle."
I think about his words. About Jagger's words. About the weight I've been carrying for so long I forgot it was there.
"Okay," I say finally. "We'll stay. For now."
Elliot's hand finds mine.
"Good." Briar nods. "I'll send updates when there's news. And Jace?"
"Yeah?"
"Try to enjoy it. The quiet, I mean. It won't last forever." His smile is wry. "It never does."
The call ends.
I sit in the silence, Elliot warm beside me, and try to imagine what enjoying the quiet might look like.
That night, we make dinner together.
It's nothing complicated—pasta with a sauce we improvise from whatever's in the cupboard. Elliot handles the chaos, tasting as we go, adding more garlic than the recipe calls for. I handle the technical parts, measuring and timing with the precision I bring to everything.
"You know," Elliot says, leaning against the counter, "this is the first time I've cooked for fun since I was a kid. My mom used to let me help with Sunday dinners."
"What did you make?"
"Whatever she felt like. Pot roast, sometimes. Chicken and dumplings if it was cold." His smile is soft, distant. "She always let me stir the gravy. Said I had the right wrist motion."
"Do you miss her?"
"Every day." He's quiet for a moment. "But it doesn't hurt the same way it used to. Now it's more like... remembering a song you loved. Bittersweet instead of just bitter."
I don't know what to say to that. My own memories of before the Foundry are fragmented, unreliable. But I understand what he means about the quality of grief changing over time.
